


Buffy Noir

by zabjade



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 21:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14777702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zabjade/pseuds/zabjade
Summary: Life was the usual same old thing – struggle to pay rent and my smoking hot secretary – until he came back into my life. A married old flame looking to me for help to find his missing wife. What should have been a simple, if uncomfortable, case ends up a twisted mess of doublecrosses and addictions and the feeling that something about reality itself just isn’t quite right. I don’t know how it’s all going to turn out, but I’ve got a very bad feeling about this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is a weird one, even by my standards *gives people time to think about that, considering her other works*. Yeah. So, weird, and there are things that aren't going to make any sense at all until the end. Just go with the flow and ride along with me, and I promise it will all eventually make sense. Probably.

It had barely begun, but it was already one of those days. A dreary Tuesday with an empty bank account and the rent past due, both for the apartment and the office. It was the kind of day where you just wanted to down a bottle of booze and crawl back into bed before you even got out of it. Unfortunately, most booze was of the serious uber nasty and laying around all day wasn’t going to get me any money for rent. No, for that, I had to go into the office and hope that someone came by with a case.

It wasn’t too far of a walk, not for me anyway, and fifteen minutes after my morning cottage cheese on toast, I was walking through the frosted glass door with my name across it. Buffy Summers, P.I. Big whoop. I’d been hoping that maybe a client would already be there waiting, but the only one there was my secretary. A platinum blond bombshell with clunky high-heeled boots, smoky nylons, a plaid schoolgirl skirt, and a white, lacy button-up blouse open over a black camisole. The vampire was pretty. His name was Spike.

And he was sitting on his desk, chewing bubblegum and painting his nails. Very unprofessional. Why did I keep him around again?

“No calls and your schedule for today is empty, love,” he said, glancing at me with those bedroom eyes of his.

Mmmm. Right, that was part of it. He was gorgeous, and his accent was, like, made out of sex or something. Also, he was actually fairly good at the job when he felt like it and didn’t complain too much when his paycheck was late. Which it currently was. If I couldn’t get a client or two soon, I’d probably have to help snag some expired blood from the hospital since Spike wouldn’t be able to pay the butcher.

I sighed and headed into the backroom that was my office, hanging up my trench coat and fedora on the coat rack before flopping down into the chair behind my desk. P.I. work was a lot less glamorous than I’d thought it’d be. At least it paid slightly more than the old Slayer gig, which wasn’t saying much, considering my sacred duty had sometimes cost me money. Not still bitter about that tattoo removal I’d had to get back in high school because of Ethan Rayne. Nope. Not bitter at all. Stupid wizard and his stupid weird Egon the Sleep Demon whatever thingy. He hadn’t even left one of those nifty proton packs behind to make up for it.

I was still thinking about that and how it would feel to throttle the slimy git – as Spike would say – when the door to my office burst open and _he_ walked in like he owned the place. Naturally tall and even taller with a pair of designer high heels. He was wearing a smart gray skirt suit with a stylish little black clutch under his arm. That was Riley Finn for you. Always looking collected and in control whenever he decided to come waltzing into my life again.

“I told you not to go in,” Spike growled, swinging around past Riley and planting himself between us. “Summers isn’t your personal scent hound, baying at the thought of droppin’ everything to run about for free at your say-so.”

Riley just gave him a scornful look before focusing on me again. “Buffy, I need your help. Sam and I were in town, hunting some demons.”

Ugh. Just like last time, coming into my town – though it was a different town this time, the old one being a nasty crater in the ground now – to hunt demons, expecting me to put aside my paying (more or less) job to help him out. Not happening. Not this time. He was the big bad soldier boy with all kinds of military gadgets and a big budget.

“Fine, you want my help, you have to pay my fee. And it won’t be cheap. Also, you need to give me _all_ of the information, up fro-”

“Sam’s missing. I think the demons kidnapped her.”

Oh. Oh, damn. Well, that changed things. I opened my mouth to say as much, but Spike looked over his shoulder at me. Yellow flashed for a moment in his eyes before he got it under control. That helped. Yeah, I felt bad about Sam being missing, but she was a big girl with a big, dangerous job. Just because she was in trouble didn’t magically mean I didn’t have rent to pay and a hungry vampire to feed.

“Ten thousand now, plus three hundred a day for expenses,” I said. Riley’s jaw dropped and even Spike lifted a brow at that. I refused to feel guilty. Riley had a lot of people he could have called on for help, including the rest of his demon hunting unit. He’d only come to me because he’d thought I’d drop everything to help him out. I’d done it before, after all. I’d grown up a lot since then. “Another ten thousand after we find Sam.”

“Th-that’s insane, you can’t –!”

“Looking for missing people has a sliding scale payment,” Spike interrupted. He gave Riley’s outfit a scornful once-over. “Not exactly hurting for dosh, now are you, if you can deck yourself out all in designer wear to call on the ex. And no doubt you’ve a right obscenely high budget for this mission of yours, what with being one of their golden boys and all.”

Riley took a threatening step forward, frowning slightly when Spike stood his ground, like he’d expected the smaller man to be intimidated or something. I snorted at the thought. For as long as I’d known him, Spike had never been intimidated by anything. Well, except maybe for that bear during Thanksgiving, and I wasn’t sure that counted as intimidated. More like “I’d pee my pants if vampires could do that sort of thing” terror and squealing, which was a completely different sort of thing.

“You don’t like my terms, then you can leave,” I said, breaking up the pissing contest before it could really begin. Spike could be pretty entertaining when he got going, but I was so not in the mood to listen to it from Riley. “I’m a private citizen as well as a private investigator. That means I don’t have to jump just because you say frog. If that’s what you’re after, maybe you should call in some of your actual subordinates.”

A flinch and a flash of guilt, there and gone again in an instant. Huh. Well, that was interesting. Mr. Straight Laced and By the Books Except When it Comes to Dating-Related Ethics Violations was hiding something from his fellow soldiers. Was he doing his own thing without actual orders, disobeying orders, or something else? Had he just come here to rub my face in his life again, but had it backfire? God, just thinking about it all was exhausting, and I had the urge to just throw Riley out of my office. Literally. I could bench press five or six of him easily enough, so it wouldn’t even be all that hard.

But…. Well, as much as Riley had done me wrong in the past, his wife didn’t deserve to suffer for it. And I could really use that money. Twenty K would cover bills and rent for a while, and I could take care of some of the back pay I owed Spike. He really was pretty damn good at the job, and came with a lot of… perks you couldn’t get from most employees.

“Fine,” Riley muttered through clenched teeth, pulling a credit card out of his purse. He started walking around Spike to hand it over to me, but my secretary snatched it neatly out of his hand. “Hey!”

“I’m the one what handles the billing and whatall. You’ve a problem with that, you know where the door is, mate.”

My ex gave me a tight-lipped glare, but I just shrugged. Spike _was_ the one who handled the billing. I’d suppressed and changed myself for Riley Finn before, and all it had gotten me was betrayal and abandonment. He’d used my heart like a tissue and declared my love a tattered wisp of nothing. Damned if I was going to change my business practices just because he didn’t like my secretary.

“I want a receipt,” he snapped.

Spike opened his mouth to make some kind of snarky reply, but looked over at me and changed his mind. He gave Riley a nod and a look of utter contempt before sashaying back out into his own domain. Spike had just as many flaws as any other person, but damn if the man didn’t know how to work a skirt and heels. Mmm.

Riley watched him go, face screwed up in disgust. “I can’t believe –”

“Drop it,” I said harshly. “My life isn’t any of your business and hasn’t been since you cheated on me and walked out when I didn’t instantly forgive you.” I stood up, put on my shoulder holster, and headed for the coat rack. “Come on. We should head out to the last place you saw Sam.”

 

**...**

 

One of the great things about San Francisco is that you could walk along with a guy holding a large parasol over his head, and no one would look at you twice for it. The parasol was being used along with a wide-brimmed, veiled hat and a pair of opera gloves – the fingertips cut off to show off his black nail polish – to protect Spike from the sun as we followed Riley to the hotel Sam had been taken from.

Technically, Spike should have stayed back at the office to answer the phone and watch for other walk-in clients, but the likelihood of more than one showing up in a single day was pretty low. Besides, he did more than just make really great coffee and tea while managing the billing, my schedule, and the clients. My guy Friday also had some skillsets that were always turning up useful during cases. Such as over a hundred years of experience at delinquency and that gross sniffing thing.

That last one came into play as soon as we walked into the hotel room. He frowned and took in a deep breath through his nose, though his mouth was slightly open, like he was tasting the air just as much as smelling it. Judging by the adorable little nose wrinkle of disgust, whatever he was smelling wasn’t exactly pleasant. That didn’t really narrow anything down. It could have been some sort of foul demon musk or the lingering scent of rancid room service. Hell, maybe it was even the funk from Riley and Sam going at it. God knew that wasn’t something _I’d_ have wanted to smell.

“Shugorn demons,” he announced, glaring at Riley. “Why the bloody hell are you messing about with shugorn demons?”

That was a damn good question. The only shugorn in the city were part of a demon crime syndicate. Which, yeah, crime was right there in the name, but it wasn’t like they went around eating or killing people any more than any human crime syndicate. Why would the military be after them instead of demons that were gobbling people down like gourmet popcorn? That split-second guilty look was back before Riley closed down again.

Oh no, we were so _not_ playing the clam up game here. Before I could say as much, Spike’s head jerked up like a pooch hearing a dog whistle. “Down!” he shouted, tackling me to the ground just as bullets shattered the window.

It was over almost as soon as it had begun. I hadn’t been hit, and a quick glance to the corner where Riley had gone for cover showed he hadn’t been hurt either. Spike’s pretty white lace overshirt was a mess, but he’d be fine. A fact that didn’t stop him from moaning dramatically as he rolled off of me, the big baby.

“Okay,” I said to Riley as I stood up, “time to start tal–”

I was cut off by a horrible, hacking cough. Blood was dripping from Spike’s mouth, and he looked dazed. What the hell? I knelt beside him, feeling sick as I finally noticed the bullet holes were smoking. Blessed bullets. Had to be. Blessed bullets didn’t do diddly-squat to shugorn, which left one real conclusion. Whoever had shot into the room had known that a vampire would be here.

My lips tightened in a grim line as I pulled Spike against me. I’d get him fixed up, and then…. My ex had some serious explaining to do.


	2. Chapter 2

In my neighborhood, you’d be lucky if the cops showed up the same day that something bad went down. But a drive-by at a fancy hotel, and the sirens were blazing right outside within ten minutes. Luckily, that ten minutes gave me time to shove my hand into Spike’s body to pull out the blessed bullet, and get a few ounces of my blood into him. Unluckily, it also gave Riley time to do a runner while I was occupied.

Which was why it was just me and Spike cooling our heels at the police station while Faith gave us the hairy eyeball, like we were somehow to blame for all of this.

“Let me get this straight, B,” she said, “you and your boytoy here just _happened_ to be there when someone just _happened_ to do a drive-by that just _happened_ to include bullets that could kill you both?”

“Yep,” I said blandly. “Just the darnedest coincidence.”

It had been a couple of years since I was last part of the Slayer Squad in the police department, but my work as a PI still brought me to the division from time-to-time. I had been the leader once, but Faith had that position now. Which… really didn’t make any sense now that I thought about it. But there she was, in her surprisingly flattering police uniform, despite technically being an escaped felon. Even if the Council had smoothed things over somehow to keep Faith out of jail, there was no way she should even be in the police force at all, much less leading a specialized squad.

My vision went blurry for a minute, a cave with flickering torches superimposing itself over the police station. I could almost feel the uneven stone under me as I lay there, struggling to sit up. Sweet-smelling smoke filled the air, making everything feel thick and sticky. Where…?

“Buffy? You alright, love?”

I blinked, and the police station suddenly came back into focus, both Spike and Faith looking at me in concern. Great. As if the day hadn’t been bad enough, now I was having flashbacks to my slayer days. Tonight was definitely going to be one for pouring myself into the bottom of a bottle of diet soda.

“I’m fine,” I said, then looked at Faith. “Can we go now, officer?”

She sighed and waved a hand. “Yeah, whatever. Get out of here. Just… remember, you aren’t part of the squad anymore. You get in over your head on your own, and there’s not much we can do to cover your ass.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m in over my head, then my ass would be covered too, wouldn’t it?”

Spike snorted a laugh as I turned to go, pulling him close. He wobbled a bit, and not because of the high-heeled boots he liked to wear. The blood I’d been able to give him from cutting my arm had been enough to close the bullet holes, but he was still unsteady, moving like things hurt inside. They probably did. This was what happened when my past decided to catch up with me. The people I cared about got caught in the crossfire. Sometimes literally.

Spike’s hand curved around to rest on my ass. “No worries, slayer. Your arse gets into any trouble, and I’ll be right there watching over it.”

And some parts of my past stuck to me like the proverbial bad penny, always around as part of my present and guaranteed to be in my future. That was fine by me, especially since this bad penny was more badass than bad luck.

Once I tracked down my ex, there were going to be a lot of questions. With me and my current tonight? Just one, really.

“So, your place or mine?”

 

**...**

 

The answer turned out to be Spike’s place. He had a couple of drawers and like, over half the closet back at my apartment if he wanted to change out of his ruined clothes, but I didn’t have any blood on hand. Well, other than fresh squeezed, but I could offer that anywhere. And only so much at that. Quantity mattered as much as quality when it came to fueling undead healing. Though quantity in this case was only going to be the pint of pig he had in his fridge.

I got it warming in a double boiler while Spike slipped into his boudoir to change. To pass the time, I started lighting the various candles set up all over the place. It was a one-bedroom basement apartment with bad lighting and one wall that always seemed to be dripping with what I hoped was condensation. It should have been a dank little hell-hole, but instead it was… homey.

The soft candlelight hid the shabbiness of the comfy old furniture and made the drippy wall look like a deliberate water feature. The cheap curtain of quartz chips hung against it helped with that particular illusion. So did the collection of brightly colored liquor bottles with even more candles set up behind them. It wasn’t quite as impressive as what he’d done back in Sunnydale with a crypt and the city dump, but it was still pretty damn good. If the whole detective thing didn’t pan out, maybe we could switch to interior design.

Once the candles were all lit, I went back to the kitchenette to check on the blood. A thermometer showed it to be about 100 degrees. That would work, and just in time, too. I heard the bedroom door open. Spike wasn’t exactly fond of pig blood, but it was cheap, and if he was feeling badly enough physically or emotionally, he’d just down it plain, sometimes even chugging it cold from the fridge. Otherwise, he preferred it doctored up. Considering all we’d been through together and the fact that he was hurt because he’d come between me and some seriously unwanted lead piercings, fixing up his food was the least I could do.

I poured it into a big soup bowl, then added a splash of tomato juice and vodka along with a liberal sprinkling of Tabasco. Now what else? Oh, right. Some crushed up crackers for added texture. Tomato soup, just like Mom used to make. Only without the blood. Or the vodka. Usually.

“Waiting on me hand and foot now, is it?” Spike asked as I carried the bowl over to where he was sitting on the couch.

I took a moment to just look at him. He wasn’t a slave to fashion like some, but that didn’t at all mean that he didn’t care about his appearance. It just meant he was fashion’s master and looked stunning even in something as simple as a sleeveless, patterned dress and nothing else. Well, the dress and a fond little smile just for me. And that was the most beautiful thing of all

“Hey, gotta take care of the invalid,” I said, sitting down beside him. I spooned up some of the blood. “Now open up. I don’t wanna have to make airplane noises.”

Amusement flashed across Spike’s face before shifting to something more serious. “Airplane noises are all well and good, love, but we need to suss ou–”

I stopped his words by popping the spoon into his mouth. “Not tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough to deal with whatever mess Riley has dragged us into. Tonight, I just want to take care of you.” I pulled the spoon back, then dipped it back in the bowl for more. Spike licked his lips hungrily, setting my hormones off like a pair of maracas in a clothes dryer. “And if you’re good and finish all of your blood soup, maybe I’ll… take _care_ of you.”

Spike sat back and ate his soup. And he was good. Very, very good.

 

**...**

 

As often seems the case when there’s things to be done, tomorrow came much too soon. I hauled myself out of the plush canopy bed that took up most of Spike’s bedroom and struggled into a spare pair of slacks and a button-up shirt that I kept around the place. Then I gave him a smooch goodbye before leaving my secretary to his well-deserved rest.

As much as I would have preferred to stay snuggled up in bed, I had a lot to do, most of it involving the ten grand. Riley may have done a runner, but that first part of the fee was still mine. It had seemed like a lot when I’d thought I’d get the second half plus the daily fee, but ten thousand could go pretty fast. There was the $985 for the office rent this month, and the $1,800 for my own apartment. And, of course, the roughly four thousand I owned Spike in back pay. I could get all of that from the bank today. Maybe pick up some more pig blood from the butcher and some nicer stuff – like otter or horse, not human – from one of the demon specialty shops in town.

And then I’d have to find Riley, which was going to be easier said than done. Though, surprisingly, not by much. It turned out to be as simple as walking into my apartment for a bite to eat before everything else. There he was, makeup perfect and dressed to the nines in a dark blue jacket and skirt over a pale orange blouse. A little black hat was pinned neatly onto his perfectly combed hair. It matched nicely with the little black .22 pistol he was pointing in my direction.


	3. Chapter 3

It was way too early in the day to deal with threats. So I did what any sensible person would have. I ignored Riley and his deadly little toy, turning towards my kitchenette to make some coffee. If my old flame had wanted me dead, he would have fired the instant I came in through the door. The fact that I hadn’t had to dodge bullets while laying the smack down meant he was here to talk. It also meant there was a chance I’d be getting the second half of my fee, which was why I hadn’t broken a few bones and tossed him out on his ass.

“Damn it, Buffy!” Riley snapped, shifting to keep his gun aimed at me. “This isn’t some kind of game. The demons still have Sam, and they aren’t happy. You need to listen and promise not to call the co–”

I cut him off with a harsh laugh. Call the cops? He really thought there was a chance I was going to do that? I had nothing against police officers. Not even Faith, who was sort of my friend again, these days. The trouble was, the law and justice didn’t exactly always go hand-in-hand, and cops had to stick to the former even when it tap danced all over the face of the latter with spiky cleats.

“The only thing I ‘need’ to do,” I said, pouring the pot of water over the scoop of ground coffee I’d put in the machine, “is have some damn caffeine. Preferably with a slosh of whiskey or two. You, though? There are lots of things you need to do. Starting with,” I put the empty pot into the coffee maker to catch the drip, then lashed out with a foot to kick the pistol out of Riley’s hand, “calming the fuck down.”

It would have been a really stupid move in most cases, but I knew Riley, better than he’d ever known me. He was a well-trained military man. And, okay, so he didn’t care about fraternization rules, obviously, but he wasn’t going to put civilians at risk if it wasn’t necessary. Since he’d had no intention of actually shooting me, I knew the safety was still on to prevent a chance of a misfire. In a place like this, even a .22 could pierce the walls and hurt an innocent bystander.

Riley yelped and the gun fell to the floor. Another kick sent it skittering off into the corner while a shove sent its owner down onto one of the two chairs at my small table.

“Now, this is how this is going to go down. You’re going to sit there and shut up while I get things ready. Then, you’re going to spill everything. And I do mean _everything_. If you don’t, then I’m done. No help from me, and Sam can rot for all I’ll care. Got it?”

He clenched his jaw and glared at me, but his only response was a jerky nod. Apparently he was taking me at my word. Which was good, because it had been a bluff. As pissed off as I was, I still wasn’t willing to let an innocent person suffer for it, and I was pretty sure that Sam, at least, was innocent. The fact that Riley believed the bluff just proved – as if I needed any more – that he’d never really known me at all.

Whatever. I shook my head and put a bagel in the toaster before rummaging in the fridge for the cream cheese. A few minutes later, I had my breakfast ready and was sitting across from Riley. “You’ve got five minutes,” I told him after my first sip of coffee. “Now talk.”

 

**...**

 

The old saying goes that a leopard can’t change its spots. I’ve gone back and forth on believing it in my life, but, ultimately, I think the saying is pretty true, if you look at it the right way. The pattern of a leopard’s spots is unique to each animal. They can’t change that up and become a completely different leopard. That’s why Spike had been able to do good before he even got his soul. It was why he’d been able to go and get it, too. He didn’t change, he just became a better person because the potential for it was already there in his spots.

And that was why Riley was in the mess he was. It was in his spots to be a cheating bastard with addiction problems. For the past few years, he’d been making regular visits to San Fran, telling his superiors he was looking into demon activity. In a way, he had been. That activity just happened to involve the local shugorn matriarch and her stable of sucker vamps. They’d treated him like a king, plying him with the best of everything and running a tab. A tab that had never seemed to be due until it had ended up at nearly two hundred thousand big ones, making my fee look like chump change.

The shugorn leader, naturally, didn’t actually want the cash. She wanted someone from the military’s supernatural unit in her back pocket. And when Riley had refused, she’d had Sam taken. Sending Riley after me had been about taking out several birds with one well-aimed stone. Getting the most experienced slayer and her “pet” vampire out of the way would remove a possible thorn from her side while also sending a message to the Slayer Squad. And it would prove that Riley had no choice but to obey her commands if he wanted Sam to stay safe.

“You really are a right piece of work, mate,” Spike said, utter contempt practically dripping from his words as he eyed Riley in disgust.

The three of us were back in my office, my vampire perched on the edge of the desk in a pair of fishnet stockings, a pleated black miniskirt, and a red camisole. His coat completed the outfit. Comparing him to Riley – sitting all prim and proper in the visitor’s chair – the average person would get a skewed idea on just which one of them was a certified champion and which a disreputable piece of garbage. Luckily, I’ve never exactly been average, and I eventually figured it out.

“I’m not your ‘mate,’” Riley snapped. “And you’re one to –”

“Can it, Riley,” I interrupted. “You wanted your cake and to eat it, too, and now you’re stuck having to sleep in a bed full of crumbs and frosting.”

Okay, weird word salad analogy, and I totally deserved the raised brow from Spike. Riley, though, could take his incredulous look and shove it right up his ass. It had been a long couple of days, and I was having the weirdest case of deja vu about this whole situation. I could almost see it, the three of us in an apartment somewhere, having a similar conversation….

_“Damn it, Buffy, you have no right to judge! Not with your obsession with vampires.”_

The words running through my mind sure as hell _sounded_ like Riley, but it couldn’t have actually happened. Right? I was pretty damn sure my ex had never come to me before to get him out of trouble because his vampire whore addiction got his wife kidnapped. It seemed like the sort of thing I’d remember in more detail.

“It seems to me,” I continued, “that you have only two options now. There’s no way the three of us can take on the shugorn by ourselves. So, either you call in your buddies in the army…,” Riley’s grimace and head shake put the kibosh on that, though I honestly hadn’t counted on it, “or we bring in the Slayer Squad.”

 _“Don’t think we can handle this lot on our own, Slayer,”_ Spike’s voice whispered through my mind. It was something I almost remembered. A conversation that had never happened. Had it? _“Gonna have to bring in some of the other slayers.”_

“We can’t go to the police,” Riley protested, his voice pulling me from my strange thoughts.

“We aren’t going to the police. We’re talking to Faith.”

Which hopefully wouldn’t end up being the same thing. Faith had come a long way, turning over a new leaf as a custodian of law and order. And now I was going to have to ask her to turn her back on the law, just this once, in support of justice. Was there even a point in trying?

At some point, Spike had slipped out of the office. Now he was back and coming around to my side of the desk with a brown paper bag. “Got you a shot of courage, Slayer-mine,” he said quietly as he handed the bag over.

Inside was a bottle of lime diet coke. Riley absolutely wasn’t worth the effort. Sam maybe was. But Spike? Spike was absolutely worth doing whatever it took to get the rest of my fee so he could get paid regularly. I chugged down half of the soda, then picked up the phone.


End file.
